After my mother’s funeral, I inherited her favorite but old painting, while my sister got her three vacation homes…

Every word of hers was a carefully thought-out bait. She painted the image of a greedy, scared woman ready for crime not to miss her own. The exact image they created for her.

Okay, okay, I understand, she said at the end. Let’s meet tomorrow at your place and discuss everything. I need to know the real price before meeting Sheffield.

She hung up. And froze, listening to the silence. That’s it.

The trap was set. All that remained was to wait for the mice to fall into it. In their mortgaged apartment, Alex sat in front of the laptop.

On the screen was a program for remote access to Elena’s phone. He saw all her calls, read all her messages. He heard both her conversations.

The first with Sheffield made him tense. Why does she want to see him and Olivia? What is she planning? But the second conversation with Peters dispelled all his doubts. It brought him euphoria.

She fell for it. Stupid, naive fool. She herself handed him the very evidence that Roman demanded.

Black market. Private appraiser. She’s going to sell the painting illegally.

He immediately saved the audio file with the recording of the conversation. And immediately called Olivia. We have everything! he shouted into the receiver, not hiding his delight.

She just called her old man. Talked about black market, underground sale. I have the recording! Excellent! Olivia exhaled.

Send this recording to their lawyer immediately. Urgently! Already? Alex attached the file to the email and pressed Send. Roman Sheffield’s address was ready.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling like a genius, a winner. Everything was going according to their plan. Even better.

Elena was digging her own grave. She was going to come to the meeting with Sheffield not knowing they already knew her criminal intentions. They’d be waiting for her there.

They’d expose her there. And he and Olivia would sit in the front row and watch her humiliation. And then they’d get their money.

Thirty percent of millions. This thought was sweeter than any drink. He called Olivia again.

He got it, he said. Just got a reply. One word: accepted.

Olivia laughed happily on the other end. We won, Alex, she said. We won.

We won. This fool herself walked into the cage and slammed the door behind her. Two days later, a message came from Roman Sheffield.

Dry, business-like. Address, date, time. The meeting place was a private gallery in downtown New York.

Not an office, not an apartment. Neutral territory. It was smart.

Elena replied with one word: Will be. These two days she spent as in a fever. She almost didn’t sleep.

Together with Samuel, they prepared for battle. He packed the painting in a special case for transporting artworks. Mom’s diary Elena put in a hard folder.

She reread it dozens of times, almost memorizing it. Every word from her mother gave her strength. Samuel, seeing her state, tried to be calm and business-like.

The main thing, Lena, don’t let them throw you off balance, he instructed her. They’ll provoke. Especially your relatives.

Don’t give in. Remember your plan. You’re leading this game, not them.

On the appointed day, they arrived at the gallery 15 minutes before the meeting. Elena was dressed simply but strictly in a dark dress. Hair pulled into a smooth bun.

No traces of that intimidated woman they tried to make of her. She was calm. It wasn’t the calm of confidence but the calm of a person who has nothing left to lose.

Samuel carried the heavy case with the painting. Elena had only the folder with the diary and a small handbag containing a recorder. It was already on, recording.

They were met by Roman’s assistant and led to a private negotiation room. It was a large, bright room with white walls, in the middle of which stood a long dark wood table. Two people were already sitting at the table.

She recognized one immediately—it was Roman Sheffield. Next to him sat an elderly, silver-haired man with an aristocratic, strong-willed face. He was dressed in an expensive cashmere sweater, and he exuded power and confidence that money can’t buy.

This was undoubtedly the heir himself, the head of the Sheffield family. They stood up when Elena and Samuel entered. Elena Harper, Samuel Peters, Roman nodded.

Allow me to introduce the head of the Sheffield family fund, Victor Nicholas. The old man gave Elena a piercing, appraising look. He didn’t extend his hand.

Please sit, he said. His voice was deep and even. Elena laid the folder with the diary.

So, Roman began, we’re listening. You said you have new information. Elena took a deep breath. The moment had come.

Yes. But before I start, I’d like you to look at something. She opened the folder and took out the thin yellowed sheets of Mom’s diary.

She pushed them across the table to Victor Nicholas. This is my mother Mary Harper’s diary. I think it will explain much more than I can.

Victor Nicholas looked at the old papers in bewilderment, then at Roman. Roman shrugged slightly. The old man put on his glasses and took the first sheet in his hands.

He began to read. Elena waited silently. She saw his face change.

First disbelief, then surprise. He took sheet after sheet, and his brows furrowed more and more. When he reached the last entry, he set the sheets aside and took off his glasses.

He was silent for a long time, looking at the table. My grandfather, he said finally quietly, looking at Elena. He trusted your grandfather like himself.

He called him the last honest man in America. At that very moment, the door to the room swung open sharply. Without knocking.

On the threshold stood Olivia and Alex. They looked like winners. Olivia’s face played a triumphant smile, Alex looked at Elena with contempt.

They clearly waited for this moment, rehearsing their entrance. Don’t listen to her lies, Olivia declared from the threshold, pointing at Elena with her finger. Her voice rang with righteous anger.

She’s lying all of it. It’s a fake. What diary? Alex stepped forward, standing next to her.

She’s trying to portray herself as a saint. But in fact, she was going to sell the painting. We have evidence.

She’s a thief and a fraud. They spoke loudly, assertively, filling the whole space. They were confident in their triumph.

They dumped their accusations on Elena, expecting her to cower now, cry, start justifying. They waited for her complete and unconditional collapse. Roman Sheffield leaned back in his chair.

His face was impenetrable, but he threw Elena a quick probing glance. He too waited.

Waited for her to break under this pressure. For their plan to work. Victor Nicholas looked at the burst-in pair with cold bewilderment, like unpleasant insects that flew in the window.

And Elena—Elena didn’t cower. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even change her expression.

She calmly looked at her sister and her husband, letting them shout themselves out. When they paused to catch their breath, Elena slowly turned her head to Roman. And a light, barely noticeable cold smile appeared on her lips.

I know, she said quietly, but her voice sounded surprisingly clear in the ensuing silence. Olivia and Alex froze. What do you know? Olivia asked confusedly.

Elena shifted her gaze to them. I know about your evidence. And about your proposal.

She looked at Roman again. And I have my evidence. She opened her handbag and took out a small black recorder.

She placed it on the table right in the middle. The sound of plastic touching the polished wood seemed deafeningly loud. Now that we’re all gathered here, Elena said, her voice even and steely, let’s listen.

Let’s listen to exactly what deal my husband and my sister tried to make with you behind my back. She pressed the play button. Roman Sheffield’s face lost its imperturbability for a moment.

He didn’t expect this. He thought only he had compromising material. And Olivia and Alex froze like statues.

Their triumphant smiles slid off, replaced by an expression of complete, absolute horror. They looked at the small black recorder on the table like a bomb ready to explode. They understood this wasn’t their game.

This was a trap. And they had just fallen into it. The silence in the room became thick, almost tangible.

All eyes were fixed on the small black recorder on the table. Olivia and Alex froze with the same expression of horror on their faces. They looked at the recorder as if it could bite.

Their self-confidence evaporated, leaving pale panic. Roman Sheffield, after a second’s confusion, regained his icy composure. He was the only one not looking at the recorder.

He looked at Elena. And in his gaze was the cold interest of a predator who met not a scared sheep but another, unknown to him, predator. Well? he said slowly.

Let’s listen. He himself reached out and pressed the play button. He expected to hear his own voice, a recording of his conversation with Olivia and Alex.

He was ready for that. He was going to turn it against them, declaring they tried to provoke him. He was ready for anything…